Mixed

"Being mixed doesn’t just effect how you look, it effects how you see the world […] We reckon with the idea that our existence begs important questions. We are the definition of diversity, so we understand the necessity for it." (Mixed_in_America, 2020).

When I was growing up, I thought I had a pretty good understanding of my racial identity. I mean, you look in the mirror every day, the color of your skin isn’t necessarily a surprise—for context, a mixed-race Black woman is reflected back at me in my mirror. A few years and a few very different cities later, I have learned that defining identity is less of a declaration and more of a conversation: a communication with your environment, not a declarative statement made in isolation. There is an increasing interest in the unique experiences of multiracial and mixed communities, with “multiracial youth and mixed families often [experiencing] unique types of discrimination and microaggressions. Among the multiple types, one is exclusion or isolation in which multiracial people are excluded due to their mixed status” (Greig, 2013).

When I worked in East Africa for two years, I thought it would be an incredible opportunity to be a part of Blackness in a way that was never possible for me before. I had this naive mindset that I would be “coming home” in some sense. I assumed people would recognize me as a part of their community because I saw myself as a part of the Black community. Of course, most people could see and immediately hear that I was a foreigner! When I look back, I’m so surprised by the cultural blind spots that led me to those beliefs. The experience of Blackness across the African diaspora is innumerably multifaceted—as multifaceted as the diverse experiences of Black folks in the United States. I felt both ashamed of my naivete and also left feeling unsure of how to define myself. Could I call myself a person of color if everyone in my community saw me as white?  

While I was out there in cultural limbo, I became so anxious trying to figure out my exact place in POC spaces. Reflecting on my mental health from that time, I recognize how severely my perceived lack of belonging increased my anxiety. I thought that my privilege as a light-skinned person of color meant that I couldn’t ask for support navigating the mental health challenges that came from experiencing discrimination and microaggressions alongside my imposter syndrome. I felt extremely isolated and didn’t reach out for support in POC spaces because I was afraid of taking up space with light skinned privilege. I have since spoken to so many other mixed folks, the recipients of the “so what are you?” questions, who have all felt that same experience.  In my reflections, I’ve realized that I was operating from such a scarcity and binary focused perspective. There is a world where two things are possible: I must acknowledge and recognize my comparative privilege and I can also seek support for some of the unique challenges I face as a mixed-race person. Over time, I have started to become comfortable with the reality that my experience of Blackness is of course so incredibly different from other Black colleagues from the United States. I understand that my experience is not inherently invalid just because it doesn’t mirror someone else’s. A missing element in my development was being open to learning about the diverse experiences of other people of color without feeling like their reality called my authenticity into question. I now know that my experience as a mixed-race person will never fit into one binary category. And I’m starting to see my little limbo space as home, straddling worlds but authentically and finally as myself.